


The Edge

by LadyBraken



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: MacDonald was a simple being, and when he saw that smile, he fell in love.
Relationships: Harry D. S. Goodsir/Alexander MacDonald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	The Edge

_ People pray to each other. The way I say "you" to someone else, _

_ respectfully, intimately, desperately. The way someone says _

_ "you" to me, hopefully, expectantly, intensely ... _

_ —Huub Oosterhuis _

Alexander Macdonald had always been a sentimental man. Soft, some might have said, tho he never balked out of his duties as a doctor. So when his old friend John Goodsir had asked him to keep an eye on his baby brother, he had said yes. Or course.

He had seen Harry Goodsir before, in passing. But the first time he really, really set his eyes on the young man was when the ships left the shore. Goodsir was looking around like the  _ Erebus _ held all the splendors of the world, wildly contrasting with the stoïc doctor Stanley, straight and tall at his side. 

They almost never saw each other. Macdonald worked on the Terror, and the two ships rarely made contact outside of Sir John’s dinners or the officer meetings. A fleeting Hello, politenesses before MacDonald went back to him own ship.

He didn’t like how Santley treated the young man, and still, kept an eye out. 

  
  


But then, they stopped on Beechey Island. Goodsir went from puddle to puddle, looking for sea-life. Holding the specimens in his hands for all to see, eyes shining, smiling like every creature on earth was a gift made specifically for him.

“Isn’t it fascinating?”

Alexander smiled. “It is. I trust you will discover great many things, Mr Goodsir.”

Goodsir blushed, his curls falling in front of his face. 

And just like that, Alexander was lost.

It was to him that Goodsir had come, when he noticed strange symptoms in the men. It was ridiculous, but it made Alexander strangely pleased. That Goodsir cared. That he trusted him, too. There was pride in here, pride to see this young man becoming a good doctor. Pride to help him on his path.

_ Imagine! _ Goodsir said, eyes wide and face open.

“Well, I’ll start enquiries, Mr Goodsir. I’ve not seen this myself.” He said, putting on his coat and preparing to get out.

“I wished you’d call me Harry.”

It was a natural enough demand - but Goodsir had said it with such delicate warmth in his voice that Alexander felt something twist softly inside him. It wasn’t politeness. Goodsir was blushing, looking at him from under his lashes in a rare show of shyness. 

It should be forbidden to be so adorable. 

Macdonald smiled. 

“Well, I might call you doctor. You sound very much like one to me right now.”

Goodsir’s smile could have made the sun jealous. Alexander stopped, unable to move. There were miles between them, yet it felt like he could see  _ everything _ . The shape of his curls, the twinkle of his eyes, the way his cheeks reddened like a child, the way his hands twisted in front of him. The kindness, for all, for everything.

MacDonald was a simple being, and when he saw that smile, he fell in love. 

\---

“Doctor Macdonald? Can I held you?”

Alexander smiled. “I know that most of the things for the costumes are already taken, so I thought…” he said, holding up the small hat he had kept aside. “For your costume. We’re all going as clowns, the doctors that is. I thought you would like to dress like us.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and when he took the hat, their fingers brushed. 

Alexander had to grip the lintel not to faint of joy. That evening, he passed hours staring at his hand. 

\---

Carnivale was in full swing around them, but still Alexander couldn’t see Harry. Yet, the men were laughing. It appeased him, after weeks of worry. The lads were happy. They didn’t know that their food was rotting. They drank, and sung, and danced.

Yet, he couldn’t see Harry. Nor Stanley. Where the hell were they?

Peddie drank next to him. They both disguised as clowns - all the doctors did. So the men could distinguished them if needed be.

Finally, Harry came, without costume and a can in his hand.

He didn’t smile. His eyes didn’t shine. He sat, frantic, next to them, almost unable to talk until Alexander put a soothing hand on his back. 

“I talked to you about the symptoms. I made tests on Jacko. All the symptoms we talked about - she had them, poor thing.” Goodsir shook the can in front of him, “it’s full of lead! Jacko died in only a few weeks!”

“Did you tell Stanley?” asked Peddie, whose face was starting to show signs of the dread that had fallen upon them. 

Harry nodded, but his eyes said too much. They always did.

When Lady Silence appeared in the tent, bloody and half-frozen, Harry ran to her, and Alexander after him. 

It was only when he saw Stanley that he understood. 

\---

He had lost Harry in the flames, in the screams, in the confusion. He was a doctor, he should be looking out for the wounded. He should, he should,  _ he should _ . But was if Harry was hurt? What if he had fallen on the ground, what if-

_ Harry _ .

Alexander ran faster than he ever had and crushed the young man in his arms. He should have asked, he should have warned, but his heart was beating its way out of his chest and his limbs were trembling. Harry smelled of burns and smoke, but he was alive,  _ alive _ . 

But Harry was stiff and unmoving against him. Something was wrong. 

Alexandre pushed the young man until he was at arm length, his hands still on the man’s shoulder. He looked him over for injury, but could see nothing. 

Then, he met his eyes. Lost, sad, oh so sad. Full of things that should never had made their way there. Reddened by smoke, darkened by pain.

Alexander knew what he was thinking.  _ He knew _ . 

“It’s not your fault”, he said, “none of this is your fault.”

Harry put one of his hands on Macdonald’s, holding unto it like an anchor in the angry sea. His lips pinched and he closed his eyes, breathing hard. 

“I thought you were dead…” he said in a breath, “Oh God, I thought you were dead…”

A sob ripped its was in the doctor's chest. He wasn’t crying, he was swallowing his own ache. 

Alexander, slowly, softly, took him by the arm and led him to the ship. Once inside his cabin, he took a cloth and washed Goodsir’s hand. The back, the palm, the wrist. He took the cloth to his face, dabbing his cheeks. His brow, brushing away the wild curls falling in front of his eyes. His neck. There was nothing pleasing about this. Nothing thrilling. he had dreamt of touching Harry - had dreamt of such intimacies. 

This was something else. Harry was hurt - they both were hurt. Mourning. Mourning  _ so many _ . Later, when their mind would start to function again, they would talk.

He let the cloth fall into the basin of water and put a hand against Harry’s cheek. He looked so vulnerable, so tired… Exhaustion was sipping inside Alexander too. 

“I don’t want to go.” said Goodsir, and MacDonald could only nod.  _ I don’t want to be alone either _ . 

Alexander washed the grim and whatever was left of his make up in the bassin. The took out his outer clothing, the disguise, his boots. 

Once Harry had done the same, they laid in the small bunk, shoulder against shoulder. a moment ticked, and Harry turned on his side, his arm wrapping over Alexander’s chest, his head on the man’s shoulder. Alexander pressed his cheek on the top of Harry’s face, his arm curling around the man’s shoulder. Holding him close.

Harry didn’t close his eyes. He kept staring forwards, string into flames that had already died in the snow. 

His thumb slowly passing on the skin of Harry’s shoulder, Alexander hummed. A song he had heard as a child. A song of home.

\---

They were at the edge of the world, at the edge of their self. Alexander was tired, oh so tired. Everyday was more painful than the one before.

Yet, when one of Hickey’s men tried to take Goodsir from the sickbay, it was like he had the strength of a young boy. It was enough to bash a head, apparently. 

Everyday that passed, he felt like there was less of him left. Less of Harry, too. Yet, in the middle of all this, Harry’s small smile, Harry’s hand in his--

Harry’s love was what remained. Alexander found that he loved unto the edge of his being. Unto the edge of his self. 

The ice was cold, but its crystals were beautiful. Tuunbaq was cruel, but his strength awe inspiring. Harry was tired, but his kindness everlasting. 

He knew Harry ate less to give more food to the other. Alexander was doing it too. He knew Harry was working himself to exhaustion - more than once he had covered his sleeping body in his own blanket. He knew Harry was starting to show the  _ signs _ . To forget. 

There was nothing Alexander could do against that, but to be  _ there _ . 

One night, Harry had laid next to him. Huddling close for warmth. For reassurance. He had pushed himself up until he was above Alexander, their faces close from each other. 

“I love you.” he said fiercely, “I love you. I need to tell you, in case I forget.”

Alexander pushed a curl behind the other’s ear. He kissed him light and soft. More was impossible in their state. “You won’t forget, Harry.” he whispered, I won’t let you.”

Harry took into telling him all he knew about wild life. All he animals, the fascinating little details - until he met a block. Until he couldn’t remember. Alexander told him about England. About his life as a student, about the shenanigans he had been involved in. He told him his favorite jam, and his favorite color, and about how green the grass was at home - but he couldn’t remember what green was, and he wasn’t sure he had a home anymore. 

Harry saw beauty everywhere, and Alexander saw beauty in Harry. In the others, too. The little helps. The small tenderness. One gave chocolate to another. One gave a glove, one a warm word. One a gentle look. Rarer everyday, but still there, god,  _ still there _ .

When he saw the dog, with the message from rescue, Alexander fell on his knees and cried. When Harry put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, he took it and kissed his knuckles, his palm, his wrist. Harry laughed, crisp in the cold air, and just like that, Alexander was laughing too. 

It was together that they led the rescue to their fellow men. Together that they helped move the sick. Together that they laid, warm, food in their belly for the first time since days. That night, Harry sat on the side of Alexander’s bed. 

He smiled, and his smiled reached his eyes. 

  
  


Together, they went home.


End file.
